Tis sweet to hearAt midnight, on the blue and moonlight deep,The song and oar of Adrias gondolier,By distance mellowd, oer the waters sweep;Tis sweet to see the evening star appear;Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creepFrom leaf to leaf; tis sweet to view on highThe rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. Byron.Don Juan, Canto I. Stanza 122.

Tis sweet to hear the watch-dogs honest barkBay deep-mouthd welcome as we draw near home:Tis sweet to know there is an eye will markOur coming, and look brighter when we come:Tis sweet to be awakend by the lark,Or lulld by falling waters; sweet the humOf bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,The lisp of children and their earliest words. Byron.Don Juan, Canto I. Stanza 123.

Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapesIn Bacchanal profusion reel to earth,Purple and gushing; sweet are our escapesFrom civic revelry to rural mirth;Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps;Sweet to the father is his first-borns birth;Sweet is revengeespecially to women,Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. Byron.Don Juan, Canto I. Stanza 124.